


Breakthrough and Chinese Food

by Laure001



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 15:09:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10596570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laure001/pseuds/Laure001
Summary: Quinn never leaves for Syria. Five years later, Carrie invites him for lunch...It's a happy (and romantic) story, I swear. See? See? Just above? That's the Happy Ending tag.(Complete!)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Inchbyinch6, my smart and beautiful editor, and to Frangipani Flower who gave me sage advice! (She is smart and beautiful too, obviously.)

“I don't know,” Saul answered Mira, in 2014, late, in bed, during one of their rare moments of intimacy. “I think she could be interested in Quinn, one day. That obsession she had with Brody, it hit very fast. And was totally unexpected.”

“Carrie just needs a breakthrough,” Mira said. “An instant of realization, like I had with you.”

Saul caressed his wife’s cheek. “Maybe your breakthrough was a terrible mistake.” 

“Maybe,” Mira whispered. She kissed him softly before rearranging her pillow. “What I mean is: when Carrie decides something, she puts all her mighty energy on it. So, if one day if she decides that she is interested in Quinn... You know.”

“Sure, maybe,” Saul answered, yawning.

Mira frowned. “But why is Dar Adal asking you questions about this?” 

“I don’t know. He is very protective of his men.”

**

Mira realized the extent of the mistake she made a few months later and initiated a divorce, but Saul had another conversation with Dar as early as the next morning.  


They were on the phone, talking about Saul’s new job and some contacts he had in the private sector, when Dar asked: “So, you had my message, about the psy sessions? Is Mathison interested in Quinn?”

“I don't think so,” Saul said, distractedly. “But who knows. My wife says she just needs a breakthrough.”

Dar didn't seem overjoyed with the perspective, but Saul had already moved on to other topics.

**

Carrie asked four marines to put Quinn under arrest in the Pakistani Embassy when she understood he was nursing the crazy scheme to go kill Haqqani. Quinn spent the night fuming in his room, two men outside in the corridor, two men inside, watching him. Then he was shipped back to the US in the first plane. He was SO mad. He phoned Carrie a few days after, it was less than an hour before her father's funeral, but he didn't give a fuck, they had the fight of all fights… then he went back home, if you could call _that_ home, and he quit.  
Dar tried to get him back, but Quinn was already in his car, halfway over the country. Rob called, he didn't even answer. 

Later, he did come back and ended things right with the CIA. Dar tried to talk him out of it again, but Quinn didn’t even listen. He was just sick of it, of everything. He wanted a new life, in a new town.

He never heard from Dar Adal again. 

**

Carrie called to have lunch with Quinn five years later. 

She was in town - his town. Had heard he lived there from an acquaintance. Wanted nothing in particular. Just to catch up. 

He gave him his office address and she was early, so she walked there, quiet streets with little houses and some bigger offices building farther north, not far from the Asian neighborhood. Men dressed in business suits and women with heels walking past her, getting out for lunch. She texted when she arrived, then waited in front of the building, near some ugly concrete pillars, but the hall inside seemed nice enough. Minutes drifted off, other men were coming out, group of colleagues joking around, and then it was him. 

With a suit and a shirt. No tie. Short hair, turning gray. 

That was the breakthrough. 

It hit her like – how does a revelation hit you? It was a flash of evidence. Intellectual, more than emotional – her body reacted too though. She tensed – stared – stopped breathing for a fraction of second.

Fortunately she had a few moments to pull herself together, because a woman (kind of attractive) addressed him on the steps, Quinn threw Carrie an apologetic glance before having a short conversation, and damn, yes, that was Carrie’s breakthrough. 

She never knew why exactly. Seeing him again after all these years? The completely new context? Meeting him as a man, almost as a stranger - not as a work partner? His conversation was over, he was walking to her at last - she had to find something casual and pleasant to say.

“Your hair is turning gray,” she stated.

They didn't even hug. He was too busy smirking.

“Happy to see you too, Carrie. What do you want to eat?”

“No. Wait. We have to address things first. Are we mad at each other? Do you still hate me? For stopping you from committing fucking suicide?”

Quinn stared at her, stunned, and of course she got it -- he had been living here for five years, new location, new job, new people, new preoccupations, and there she was, bringing out shit he may not have thought about for an eternity – well, too bad, Carrie stood her ground, didn’t apologize, and didn’t avert her eyes.

A pause. Then he had a short incredulous laugh. “Fuck. You haven’t changed.” 

Another man walking out heard the “fuck” and threw Quinn an amused look. Quinn just smiled in return. “I don't say ‘fuck’ a lot anymore,” he whispered to Carrie. “You have a bad influence on me.”

“Or a good one. What is your job here anyway?”

“I’ll tell you when we’ve chosen a restaurant.”

He took her to China Town – a pompous name for a neighborhood of maybe five or six streets, with some projects, a lot of grey concrete but some cheerful looking places. Quinn chose a particularly ugly looking restaurant, with plastic chairs and plastic tables and a lot of noise, but most of the clientele was Asian (always a good sign,) ordering stuff Carrie had never heard about in three different languages. It seemed Quinn had established a previous rapport with an elderly looking waitress who brought them tea right away, Quinn vaguely flirted with her, before ordering a bunch of really odd stuff for the table.

“I have my own firm,” he explained, when they began to eat. “Security and… gathering useful info from other players in our clients’ industries.”

“Corporate espionage.”

“Yes. We deal with some of our clients directly, or through some bigger firms…”

She watched him as he kept talking, not focusing so much on what he was saying as on his general attitude. Neutral. Pleasant. He was making a pitch, with the touch of self deprecating humor that you add when you share said pitch with a friend. That would be the perfect moment for her to return to normal, she thought, for the rush of emotion to disappear. Sure, when she saw him, she had an irrational flash of… something, but now, confronted with the mundane reality, it was all going to fade away, right? Quinn had become one of those average corporate guys – uninteresting – and they were having this average, boring conversation – yes, it was going to vanish - right now, while she was eating fried shrimps on tofu with a subtle ginger sauce – except the feeling didn’t fade away, at all. 

Listening to him, she felt warmth. An undefined longing. A desire to connect. To come back to… To what?

Quinn stopped.

“I’m so proud of you,” Carrie said, sincerely. “You wanted to get out, and you did. You made a great life for yourself. I am… amazed. And so full of admiration.”

He paused for the flimsiest moment, chopsticks in hand – something fled through his eyes, to get quickly buried again – except, not totally. When he spoke, he was more… Quinn. Less neutral pleasant business guy.

“It’s thanks to you,” he said. “That I finally left. You got me so angry. I swear, I could have killed you, Carrie. And the fact that I didn’t, that I had all that pent up rage got me through the quitting process. It carried me through.”

“Your hate for me was the impetus that made you change everything?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.”

He smiled. “It’s good. Hatred is an emotion that gets. things. done.”

“I can see that,” she said, smiling back, because that was great, that was Quinn, that was normal interaction. “Still, I saved your life there, you ungrateful asshole. This steamed chicken is amazing .”

“How do you know? I could have killed Haqqani and gotten out of there alive. Wait till you taste the eggplant.”

“They’d have slaughtered you. Cut you alive and screaming in tiny little pieces. I’m not a fan of eggplant.”

“Those are stuffed eggplants with pork and garlic. Try them - you’ll never be the same again.”

“Is it code for, ‘Carrie, you are right, you saved me from a slow and painful death, thank you?’”

Quinn took a piece of the steamed chicken – the table was small, the plate was on Carrie side, so he almost brushed her forearm – but didn’t – he didn’t eat the bit of chicken right away, just put it in the bowl with the sauce and watched it there.

“I guess that four years ago, I would have told you that my life wasn’t worth shit,” he finally commented. “That killing Haqqani was much more important than keeping me alive. I don’t think like that anymore.” He caught the piece of chicken with his chopsticks, looked at her and said softly: “So, thank you, Carrie.”

She stayed frozen, eyes lowered for a moment, playing with her own sauce - feeling suddenly very vulnerable. Shit. Something was really happening with her. And it had been ages. 

The question, now, was…

“So, you hate me, Quinn.”

“No,” he said, a little too quickly. “No.” He paused, searching for words. “It was a mistake, using the word ‘hate.’ I meant ‘rage.’ ‘Anger.’ And of course it’s over now. I’m so happy to see you.”

He was still not looking at her – please understand, it is a complicated task, to really, seriously soak a piece of chicken in ginger sauce – yes, still the same piece of chicken – but she could not look at him either, it took her a few seconds to find something to say, at last she smiled, then explained:

“I quit too. I work in a foundation.”

“I heard,” he said, meeting her gaze at last, and Carrie talked about her life in New York, Franny, the complexities of navigating the world of law and order when you’re used to force the issues – and suddenly they were both deep in conversation, talking about the private sector, normal life, or what was normality for them anyway – the happiness of an average existence, but also that disconnected feeling you get, and you know, dear reader, that expression I just used, “deep in conversation?” The word “deep” is well chosen, because that’s how it feels, like you’re sinking deep with someone, time slows down, the rest of the universe fades away, you’re underwater – but not alone – and suddenly dessert was eaten and coffee was sipped and the waitress bluntly put the check on the table – it was not the kind of restaurant where you could linger. 

They both were jolted out of the moment – Carrie couldn’t believe the meal had come to an end. 

So… what? Now they were going to stand up, say good-bye, never see each other again? She saw the moment he realized it too – they looked at each other, and maybe – just maybe – there was a touch of wistfulness in his eyes, hidden under – that gave her hope, so she pretended to look into her handbag, and said, casually:

“I’m still in town tomorrow. You want to have lunch again?”

“Sure,” was his short answer, and they said good bye, and she walked to the conference center, thinking – yes, maybe, just maybe.

**

She had to focus on work all afternoon – there were projects to fund and money to be raised, lives and freedom literally depended on how convincing she was. The power of focus was something Carrie possessed in spades , so Quinn was chased completely out of her mind, and when she found herself alone for two minutes between meetings, looking at her reflection in the mirror of the grey, glittering bathroom, she decided that she was not feeling anything anymore. That Quinn thing had just been a fluke, the shock of seeing an old friend, no breakthrough in sight. 

No. What was important was money, and efficiency – at dinner she ate with an important sponsor and five people of his team, there was just shy of a million at stake, and when she had another thought about what happened in the morning, it was to reassure herself that no, nothing – definitely a fluke – in fact maybe she should cancel their meal – then, as soon as she laid her head down on her pillow. she was brutally submerged again.

She had raised a lot of money – Reda was going be overjoyed – but all she could think about was Quinn. Their lunch. What he said. What it could be. 

Why she was so possessed? It was not an unpleasant feeling, the uncertainty and the flutters – but she’d like to know what Quinn was thinking – he had been kind of in love with her, right, in Islamabad? 

So strange. Carrie had never admitted it to herself at the time. Quinn was her friend, he did what she wanted, because… because… five years ago answers were vague, undulating unseen below translucent surfaces but now, suddenly, naming the exact truth became crucial. 

And of course she had no way of knowing.

**

She had strange dreams that night.

**

Lunch, the next day. Same place, same table. They dived in conversation instantly, there was no polite chit chat, they hadn’t even ordered and they were already talking about nightmares (and PTSD) and it was just great. No bullshit, no abstraction, no long words or sophisticated sounding sentences, talk was blunt and harsh, Carrie felt such a relief – not pretending to be a glamorous urbanite, taking things with ironical fucking distance – fuck distance, when your superpower is focus, distance is not something you master, and Quinn was authentic too – you can’t fake those things, not really. 

Eyes locked, their voices, the deep.

When the waitress came with the menu Carrie was jolted again – couldn’t believe they had not been talking for an hour when really it had been less than five minutes.

“What do you want to eat?” Quinn asked.

“Same as yesterday.” 

He gave her a quick glance – Carrie was embarrassed – it felt too obvious, like she was telling him she loved their previous lunch so much, she wanted to recreate it -- like she was showing her hand -- he looked at her again when the waitress went away, and there was definitely something in his eyes – “Do you have somebody in your life?” she almost asked, but it was too early – God. 

She had lost track of the conversation… Quinn had noticed, he stopped talking, reverting to his polite, distanced smile. 

Fuck that. 

“I’m so happy right now,” she said.

A silence ensued. Sure, it’s not a thing you tell your old colleague at a friendly lunch. She saw the shock again, conflicting emotions in his eyes, and she quickly restarted the conversation so that he could decide whether he wanted to dwell on her sentence or not, and interpret it the way he wanted. Soon they were far away again, same shrimp tofu, same steamed chicken – and the eggplants. 

Dessert.

“I know next to nothing about you, Quinn,” Carrie said lightly, eating some silk tofu soaked in a ginger caramel sauce – one of the best desserts she had ever tasted, and tofu was not high on her list of favorite foods. “We’ve known each other for what, eight years now? And you’ve read my file, I suppose.”

“I have,” he commented, stirring his coffee with a provocative smile. “Not a pretty sight.”

“The only thing I know is that you were raised in Philadelphia,” she continued. He saw the epiphany in her eyes. “Shit. Is the Harvard thing even true?”

“No.”

“Shit,” she repeated. There was a silence, while she reflected. “I should have known. Philadelphia’s right?”

“Yes.”

“Your childhood?”

“Sucked.”

“Teenage years?”

“Sucked.”

“Such a pleasure talking to you. How were you recruited?

He looked at her for a while, eyes completely neutral. 

“You know, Carrie” he finally said, “I didn’t fight only with you, when I left. I also settled some scores with Dar.”

“Great. So you put me in the same category as Dar Adal.”

“No,” he said slowly. “Never.” 

“What happened?” 

“I told him some truths. Long overdue. It was not a pleasant conversation.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“No.” He thought for a moment. “Yes, maybe. In a way. But then I was gone.” 

Carrie hesitated, but Quinn had already changed the conversation to his arrival here, and she didn’t dare raise the topic again.

So the conversation went on. 

Coffee. Another coffee. Another. 

It was 3 pm. He had texted something before they ordered his second coffee, (that he’d be late, certainly,) but now the waitress was coming by again, giving them the stink eye. 

So this time - that was it. They were going to stand up, say good-bye, never see each other again.

He was playing with his spoon, in his empty coffee. Uncertainty and uneasiness has settled. 

Fuck. Ok, go.

“I’ve prolonged my stay,” she declared, looking right at him. “Lunch tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he said, looking right back.

**

Then she found a way to prolong her stay. 

**

Lunch, the next day. Same restaurant, same table, same food. 

The five first minutes were extremely awkward. Carrie was so nervous. She almost spilled her tea, but then, her nervousness slowly subsided, because – he was so nervous, too. And he was also so – there. So present. A strange thing to say, but maybe you’ve experimented it, dear reader, when you know you’re totally _in_ the moment. Feeling deeply, every second – good and bad.

When he grabbed a bit of steamed chicken with his chopsticks, his arm did brush hers, he gave her a look -- there was a question in his eyes, and – pain, almost -- but of course that was the moment the waitress reappeared with the rice, so even if there was an answer Carrie couldn’t give it – but a step had been taken, because after the waitress left, both their attitudes were different, he gave her a shy smile, she – she had no idea what she did, they still talked, but their eyes stayed locked for at least five seconds – oh you think that’s nothing? Try it for five whole seconds, dear reader, lock eyes with somebody, and tell me it isn’t significant.

The conversation was uninteresting – what was happening was not on the talking level – the meal was over, they stood up, he paid, they began to walk, without a particular aim.

**

He didn’t even mention work. She didn’t mention her pretext for staying. The sky was grey (like some of his hair) but it was not sad, at all, the sun was shining through, bathing the neighborhood in a silvery light, they walked around, went up some stairs and found themselves on a concrete platform, colored by the bright spots of Asian shops and restaurants, kids were playing around in warm clothes, cars were passing below, Carrie’s felt so tense, anxiety and euphoria mixed together, Quinn was feeling the same – she knew, I mean, you just know, at this point. They walked around for a few minutes more, then sat down next to each other, on concrete steps near one of those incomprehensible abstract statues that sprout like weeds in any modern environment - neither of them talked, two excited teenagers let themselves fall near them, holding their skate boards and chatting loudly, the steps were not that big so Quinn had to huddle closer to Carrie, his arm and shoulder against hers, they stayed unmoving, for five long minutes, Carrie was cherishing the moment, hearing the mundane, busy noises of the city, thinking of her past, of Quinn’s life, of hers, of how precious was this.

“Do you have somebody in your life?” she asked, when the kids were gone.

“No,” he answered, watching another group of teens doing impressive rollers acrobatics.

He stood up, held out his hand – the gesture was strangely gallant, he squeezed her fingers in his for a brief second before letting go, they began to walk again, side by side, found themselves under the concrete pillars of a small mall, the zone was bleak, with torn posters and an abandoned bike in the corner, they stopped, looking at - nothing, at the entrance of the place, he turned to her, and suddenly they were kissing, against the pillar, it was passionate, a little crazy - when they stopped, she put her forehead on his shoulder and let time flow - in that odd, commonplace corner of the universe – his hands were still on her back, maybe trembling a little - around them the hum of life, clients passing by, chatting happily in Mandarin, ignoring them.

He kissed her again, on the neck, below her ear, then whispered something, maybe “Carrie,” she wasn’t sure. 

“There is a small hotel - just around the mall,” she said.

He grabbed her hand. 

“Let’s go then.”

**

The first sex was blind and a little forceful. Not that anyone forced anybody, but it was just a breathless mess, sheets and no technique and Carrie didn’t quite see anything, she was just feeling, and things were over relatively quickly – fifteen minutes maybe – not that bad, not world record either, they rested for a while, (legs tangled together, naked bodies bathed in the clear, white light,) she didn’t want to move, just stay, while he was caressing her back.

“I hope you have time,” he said, after a while. “’Cause we can do better.”

“No complaints on my side. But yes, I have time.”

“This was brutal spontaneous first sex. Totally worth it. But the menu is more sophisticated.”

“What’s on it?”

“You’ll see,” he said, nuzzling her neck, and the second time was very slow, a game of frustration, he kissed her all over, driving her crazy, playing with his fingers and stopping just at the right moment, till he didn’t – after, she needed a few seconds to catch her breath before going down directly on him and his reaction there was just – he lost it a little bit so she lost it a little bit and – then things accelerated again and maybe they both lost a bit of time there too – because when she found herself back in reality at least an hour had passed, the light was still white though, same noises of kids and skates and cars and voices, coming up like a pleasant fog. If there was ever a perfect moment, it was this one, she felt so – free – hours stretching before her, and part of the next day too -- nobody waiting for her at home – Franny was with friends – no work responsibilities, anything could happen, she laughed, for no reason at all. This seemed to rouse him, 

“Not the reaction I was hoping for,” he said, but there was happiness (and pride) in his voice, he began to kiss her neck again, the lobe of her ear, her naked breasts, she whispered:

“I propose we don’t leave that bedroom. Ever.”

“Fine with me,” he answered, focused on his task.

“But then we’ll grow hungry after a while.”

“We’ll order in.”

“I want the same food though. From that restaurant.”

He raised his head.

“Are you hungry already?” 

“I will be.”

“At what time exactly will you be hungry? So I can time my interventions.”

“Is that the term?”

“I don’t want you to scream ‘steamed chicken!’ in the midst of my attentions.”

“God. Yes. That steamed chicken _was_ a marvel.”

“It was. I know how to choose my restaurants. And my…”

She thought he was going to say “women”, but his voice trailed off, he looked at her, then at his phone, and said:

“It’s 4.30. Let’s say you want to eat at 6. That gives us time for three more… interventions.”

“You are a very pretentious man.” 

“Interventions mostly centered around you, obviously.”

Carrie sat up.

“What?” Quinn asked. “You don’t like that program?”

“I do, but see, now, I’m taking this as a challenge.” She put her hand on his belly, then slowly worked her way down, saying, “Let’s see if I can…” but he rolled over and caught her arms, “Nope – I want to try something on you first” and then they were fighting under the sheets, she was laughing, he was trying to look serious while pinning her onto the bed, to escape she had to use a pretty dick move (literally) and then they were rolling on the mattress half laughing, half – well, both seriously wanting to win -- things degenerated quickly, to a mutual intervention, this one lasted longer than the two others –– and there was that moment – he was looking into her eyes, she was looking right back – he was inside her, and everything just slowed down – they stopped moving – he had this look – he lowered his head to kiss her, on the shoulder again, as if she was precious, as if he didn’t dare – and somehow that was the moment that drove her off the edge and she just – and then he - and that was it for the afternoon, they just lay there, exhausted and debating who won (they both did). 

Soon it was six.

“We can order at this restaurant of yours, right?” Carrie asked.

“No. They don’t deliver. But there are dozens of places that do.”

“I really loved that food though.”

“Carrie, we have are lot of excellent restaurants around here.”

“Yes, but this meal – those meals – were delicious. And directly led to our proclivities in this room.”

“You think it was the food?”

“Absolutely.”

“Carrie this is ridiculous. And I am not moving from that bed.”

So, of course, twenty minutes later, Quinn was fully dressed, waiting in the _right_ restaurant for the food to go, when he walked back, the night has fallen, the sky was dark blue, green, yellow and red neon’s lights coloring the concrete - Carrie waiting for him in the hotel room – what a strange thought – in the elevator, his heart began to beat in a strange, arrhythmic way, when he entered the room she was up, fresh out of the shower, they looked at each other in that tiny white hallway, taking the situation in, and suddenly they were kissing again, she against the bathroom door with only her towel on, he still holding his takeaway bags – it went on for a very long time, kiss after kiss – nothing else – after, they ate on the tiny table, and it was really fun – and as soon as they put the chopsticks down everything became extremely awkward. 

Because of the conversation they were not having. 

Suddenly there was nothing to say – or too much. At any moment, one of them could stand up and declare, “Ok, that was fun, good-bye.” But neither of them did. Carrie felt exhausted, she knew a conversation was unavoidable, but not right now, or maybe the tiredness was just a way to avoid the talk and to keep him here. She caressed his cheek and breathed “Ok if we just sleep?” Soon the lights were off and they were drifting away in each other arms – then it was much later and she woke up, shaken by a nightmare, he was talking to her in a low voice, reassuring her – “Fuck, sorry,” she whispered when she regained her senses. “I have those all the time,” he whispered back. “I’m so sorry,” she said in the dark, not really sure why, “You’ve saved my life,” he whispered back, that was strange too, there was a silence before he added “But I would have killed the motherfucker.” She laughed silently, he caressed her naked shoulders for a while. “There are things you are not telling me,” she breathed – yes, that came out of the blue too, it was a chaotic, conversation, but she felt him far away, his mind in foreign skies and other, long buried nights. “There are many things I haven’t told you,” was his answer. A whole minute passed. “Maybe later,” he added, and there they were stuck again, because ‘later’ was dangerously close to the conversation they were not having, so she pretended not to hear and they slowly drifted to sleep again.

**

When she woke up, she began to rise up instantly, forgetting where she was – but he grabbed her waist and held her close, for a second.

**

Breakfast was awful.

In a little room in a sublevel of the hotel, no window. Carrie could not breathe, her nervousness (and his) were choking her, “let’s go back in the room,” he said, they took their coffees to go and thank God, as soon as they were upstairs BAM, sex again (coffee cups safely stowed away) and once that was done most of the tension had disappeared with it, light was flowing from the window again, strange raucous birds were adding to the noise rising from the platform.

“You _knew_ there was a hotel just here,” Quinn said, lying on the sheets beside her. “You came prepared.”

She shrugged.

“Of course.”

He had a small laugh.

“When?”

“In the afternoon? After our second lunch?”

“Pretty sure of your charms, were you?”

“No,” she said, and she had to repeat it – her voice was a little strangled. “No. I was not sure.” Some moments passed before she added “How come you’re single, Quinn? Doesn’t make sense.”

“I’ve not always been. I had two pretty serious relationships. Well... one. The last one was very on and off.”

“When did it end?”

“In the afternoon,” he said slowly. After our second lunch.”

The silence seemed to stretch forever. Then he started again. “I fell in love with someone… years ago...” 

Carrie’s heart sank. 

“She was a colleague, and she wasn't into me at all. She even fucked a terrorist, got pregnant.”Carrie turned to look at him, but he was staring at the ceiling. “Fortunately I left the game, and got over her. I really did. Then she reappeared -- to have lunch.” 

“Women,” Carrie whispered. 

“Yeah. Paid to fuck up your life.” 

“Oh, is there money out of it?” she said – or tried -- her throat was so tight. He did not answer, now they were both staring upwards. 

Something hurt in her chest. 

“So, what happened? Were you over her?” she managed to say. 

“It depends on her intentions,” he said -- his voice messed up too. 

It took Carrie a moment to find out what to answer. “New York is a only a six hours flight,” she finally said. There came an irrational fear of being rejected. “I know it's unpractical, but, uh…”

“One can get a lot of work done during a flight.”

His tone was light, but Carrie's heart was beating like crazy, it was one of those moments you feel are keys, that you know are going to change your existence forever -- a few of them in a life -- mostly, you recognize them in retrospect. 

She took his hand, above the sheets, he held it very tight.

“It turns out, I was not over her,” he whispered. 

Her phone began to scream - ok, ok, her alarm began to beep, but loudly – time to go to the airport - she breathed out a short laugh, he held her hand a few seconds longer, then she realized she had set the alarm 45 minutes late – she still could make it though – but everything was suddenly a whirlwind of practicality, paying the room, going back to her own hotel, grabbing her stuff. "It would have been more practical if we had just… fucked directly in here," Quinn commented while helping her to stuff her clothes in her mini suitcase. 

"It was too far," she answered. “Didn't want to wait." He smiled, she made some joke about the fact that the word ‘fuck’ was coming back easily to him now, he drove her to the airport -- they didn't especially talk -- and as they got out of the car, in the parking lot, she was suddenly riddled with doubt. 

He was so practical. Efficient. Indifferent. Grabbing her suitcase and directing her to the elevator. Did she imagine that conversation, in their bed? Was it as significant as she thought? And then – as those things go -- she was assailed by the exact opposite thought. Had she been clear enough? Did he get that she was interested? 

They were in the big, metallic elevator, going up, when she blurted:

“If I come back I suggest we book a room in the same hotel.”

“Perfect.” 

“When you come visit... If you come...” she stuttered – God she was feeling so insecure. “I… We won't be able to do… that, because of Franny. But if you're ok to spend time together... maybe do some kid activities with us...”

“ _When_ I come,” he said. “Not _if_ I come.” 

She took a deep, deep breath.

**

They stopped before the northern escalator, there was a security check up there, so he had to leave her. They silently hugged, it was a strange hug, with… steps. First it was affectionate and polite, he took her in his arms the normal way, but then they stayed unmoving for a while, and his hands went around her back to hold her tighter, she felt his heart beating like crazy, and hers too, she kissed him on the shoulder and he began to kiss her everywhere he could, on the hair and on her neck, she could feel both of them losing control - “I can come back next weekend,” she whispered. 

“Ok.” 

“But maybe you’re busy?”

“No, I… I'll make it work. Just come,” he breathed. “Just come back.”

“I will.”

He kissed her, before adding: “I could fly to New York the week-end after.” 

“Ok,” she said, with a huge smile. 

“And the next and the next,” he said, his tone light, but his eyes... were testing her, she just nodded, looking right at him, then, “yes,” she said, she buried her head on his arm again, and whispered: 

“I almost can't believe it.”

“Yeah. Me neither.”

They kissed again, and again, before she finally got on the escalator, then she was on the plane and when she landed a text was waiting for her. 

*Just checking you're still alive. And have not disappeared in a puff of smoke.* 

She knew what he was really checking. 

*Nothing has disappeared in a puff of smoke* she answered. *What about you?* 

*Still here* was the answer, but it was clear enough. 

*What made you change your mind?*

It was a new text, it arrived two hours later, when she was getting ready to eat, and it gave her a moment’s pause – she got that he was alluding to ‘before,’ to Islamabad and their CIA days, but… had she really changed anything? Had she really made up her mind at the time? 

*Your hair,* she answered. *Seeing it turning gray. I don't know. It was a sort of breakthrough. No time to lose, I suppose.* 

*Alma always tells me to dye it,* he sent. * My secretary.*

*Don't you dare,* she answered.

Then she began to microwave the Chinese food she had ordered, feeling quietly, deeply happy. 

*How hot is this secretary? * she typed, a little later. *Should I be worried?*

*Maybe. She's kind of a looker. How hot is your partner in that foundation?* 

*Very,* she answered, and then they kept texting all night.


End file.
